


Black Cats and White Feathers

by hatandgoggles



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 16:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16601951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatandgoggles/pseuds/hatandgoggles
Summary: Crowley encourages Aziraphale to adopt a baby kitten. Aziraphale has some ideas as to why.





	Black Cats and White Feathers

It was a dark night. This might seem superfluous to anyone reading this sentence in a story, but this night was definitely darker than other nights. Thick, heavy rain clouds blocked the view of moon and the stars to anyone and anything on the ground and fat drops of water came down at such an intensity that there weren't even any cars passing by to light up the alleyway with their headlights every now and again.

No cars, no people out and about to nudge into doing something vaguely sinful, not even a single marker peg to move in a squelchy field. (He couldn't help but shudder at the memory.) So then, what on Earth was Crowley doing in the grimy alleyway behind his apartment complex at 3.33 in the morning with only a flimsy, tartan patterned umbrella to shield him from the drops as he mulled over his latest moral dilemma?

Well, it started about an hour ago…

 

The demon had had a lazy night in. He must've somehow lost track of time while he was working on his plants because when he checked his watch, it had already been a quarter past two, where he thought it should have been eleven or twelve instead. No use going out now, he figured. Hardly anyone was out at this time in good weather, but a quick glance out of his ceiling-high windows told him it had just started to rain.

Routinely, he placed his plant mister and clippers back into the cupboard he'd taken them from many hours ago. With a snap of his fingers, he wore the world's comfiest pyjamas and fluffiest slippers and slumped into his bedroom. It had been weeks since he had last slept. He deserved this. And mere seconds after placing his head down on the pillow, he was off to sleep… for about five minutes. 

Just the fact that he enjoyed sleeping didn't make him a deep sleeper of any kind.

There was a sound. Small. Not quite peeping, more like a whine. Whatever it was, it was annoying and it had to stop. If he got this over with quickly, he might be able to catch a nice 15 hours of sleep today. But that didn’t mean he wanted to.

Grumbling, the disgruntled demon rose from his bed to examine every last cubic inch of his apartment for the source of the sound. Surely his plants hadn't learned to talk back to him, had they? He wasn't particularly keen to find out what they had to say about him. 

He opened his closets, his cupboards, fiddled with the volume knobs of his sound system and the television. The fridge wasn’t plugged in, so that couldn’t be it. He looked under his table, his chairs, his couch, but nothing seemed to be alive. Not alive enough to be keeping him up, anyway.

On the up side, after conducting the extended search of his apartment Crowley concluded that the sound were not, in fact, his houseplants conspiring to take their revenge on the demon for years of verbal abuse, on the down side, he still hadn't found the source of the sound.

In a last-ditch attempt, he got on his knees and placed his ear against the sterile floor to hear if the sound came from his neighbors on the lower floors, to no success. The sound still reached his other ear first.

He got up again, and in a last-last-ditch attempt to find whatever was making this dreadful sound, he placed his ear against the window. Bingo. The sound was definitely coming from outside, and whatever it was, it would stop soon. Very soon.

With another snap of the fingers, the demon was fully dressed and stalked outside, only stopping by his front door to pick up a tacky umbrella that had been lying around his apartment for ages now, not even waiting until he exited the building to open it.

Once outside, it wasn't that difficult to find out where the sound was coming from. There was a television box standing by the trash container that reached all the way up to the tall being's knees.

Inside, there was an undeep puddle of water, in which a small kitten was sitting. Its black fur drenched and sticking to its body. Its bright, yellow eyes screwed shut every time it screamed at an admittedly impressive volume. Undoubtedly wailing for its mother, or anyone, really, to help it out of its situation. It was too small and too light to topple the box and, though slowly, Crowley could see the water in the box rising. Things weren't looking up for the small creature.

He wasn't proud of what happened next. After killing a Duke of Hell, attempting to prevent Armageddon and preparing to fight Satan himself with nothing but a tire iron and sheer, dumb stupidity, he couldn't be caught dead doing anything remotely virtuous. He assumed. 

And yet.  _ And yet _ , Crowley reached into the box to pick up the kitten, (who, in self defense, furiously swiped at his hands) placed the soaking animal against his chest and zipped up his jacket to keep it warm. Before he knew it, he was running to the one place he knew it would be safe as fast as his legs would take him.

 

He made a small sound as his knuckles rapped against the thin, glass window in the door of the bookshop. Aziraphale didn't sleep, and therefore should be up and about at this hour, hiding away and reading in the back room or in the sorry excuse for an apartment upstairs.

When the angel wasn't at the door in 30 seconds, however, the demon resorted to pounding his fist on the wooden part of the door until the near-permanent "closed" sign swung back and forth on its suction cup, not letting up until the door was yanked open.

"Crowley, it's four in the morning! What in God's name are you doing out in the rain?" Aziraphale demanded, squinting up at the demon. Reading small print letters in the dark for hours was fine and dandy, but it took his eyes a while to get used to their surprise visitor.

"I've, uh, come to return your umbrella." Crowley lied, gesturing at the umbrella that had broken somewhere along the way unbeknownst to him. Now that he thought about it for longer than half a second, he was dripping wet himself. "It's tartan, so it must be yours."

"I don't think I've ever seen that umbrella in my life."

"Then it's a gift I forgot to give you! Point is, it's yours."

The angel only gave him a bored stare, not uttering a word. He didn't have to. If there was one thing he knew about the demon after 6000 years, it would be that he was, and  _ is _ , a dreadful liar. If he kept quiet, Crowley would blurt out the truth sooner or later. 

And he would have, had he not been interrupted by a small mewl emitting from his jacket.

The angel's features softened almost immediately and stepped out of the doorway, allowing the demon passage into his domain, which he gratefully made use of before closing the door behind him.

"Stay here and try not to get anything wet. I'll go get you two some towels." The angel said before he ducked behind a row of bookcases, which Crowley knew lead to the rooms upstairs. There was no sound of footsteps on the stairs, but he could hear the clacking of the angel’s heels against the old floorboards (or ceilingboards, from where Crowley stood) not much later.

It was then that he decided this might be a good moment to see how the cat was holding up. Carefully, he unzipped his jacket, only to earn a hiss from the small animal and get scratched in the face by a pair of surprisingly sharp claws.

“Ow! Come on, I’m trying to help you here!”

“Lashing out at those who try to help you, huh? Sounds like someone we know.” Aziraphale chuckled. He carefully draped a fluffy, white towel over Crowley’s head before taking the kitten from his hands. It instantly calmed down in the angel’s arms where it was gently cradled and toweled dry.

Whatever Crowley felt in that moment, it certainly wasn't jealousy. 

"I have no idea who you're talking about." The demon spat as he rubbed the towel through his hair at an almost painful intensity. Anything to distract him from the angel's radiating warmth and the fact he could see right through him. "Sounds like a right bastard, if you ask me."

"I think he thinks he is, too. I just think he has some walls up." Aziraphale said absentmindedly, teasing the kitten who was now playfully batting its paws at the angel's fingers. "Would you come upstairs with me, dear? Can't send you back out there, especially in this weather."

 

Despite seeing even less use than his own, Crowley had to admit that Aziraphale's living room was warmer, more cozy and all around more homely than his. Cream walls, oak floors and panels along the walls and the orange glow of ancient light bulbs in even more ancient light fixtures would do that for a room.

It was here that the serpentine demon had been wrapped up in a plaid blanket, dressed in a fresh change of clothes that fit him, warming up over a hot cup of tea. Personally, Crowley would have preferred a big glass of wine, but the angel had objected. ('Alcohol only numbs your senses and gives you the impression that you're warm, it doesn't do anything to actually warm you up.') He had briefly toyed with the idea to suggest a German glühwein, but quickly decided against it.

Aziraphale and the kitten were in the small kitchenette at the far end of the apartment. Through the open door, Crowley could see the angel standing at the stove, and the cat trying to look into a bowl he was heating au bain marie.

"Ah, ah." He heard Aziraphale scolding the cat. "You'll have your breakfast soon enough, dearie. Patience is a virtue." 

Aziraphale had been right. From the lashing out part down to the kitten constantly hovering around the angel for company and to satisfy its curiosity, that cat did remind him of someone they knew and he hated himself for it. Projecting his feelings on a cat. How much deeper can you sink? He took a big gulp of his scalding hot tea. That ought to take his mind off it.

The demon wheezed and coughed as his mouth and throat burned. That was a bad decision if he ever made one. And he had made many.

Through the tears forming in his eyes, he saw Aziraphale approach and place the bowl of warm milk on the table, which the cat hungrily stuck its face in.

Hard same, buddy.

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked, cupping his face and rubbing the tears from his eyes. 

Crowley nearly recoiled. Nearly. He didn't chase after the warmth of the angel's hands when he let go to take the seat next to him, either. And he definitely didn't relax when the winged space heater leaned against him. That would be preposterous.

"I have to admit, he is a precious little thing. What inspired you to rescue him anyway? Is Satan going around rescuing strays nowadays?" The angel asked, gently elbowing Crowley’s side.

The bundle of blankets rolled its unobscured eyes.

"If you must know, it was screaming bloody murder under my bedroom window, thank you very much."

"Any other demon would have killed it." The angel pressed on.

"I politely object, because no other demon sleeps."

"Well, you've always been special that way, haven't you? Always the trickster, never the guy egging on the homicidal maniacs?"

"Humans are good enough company. Where would the fun be if we got rid of them?" The demon insisted.

"A cat is hardly a human." Aziraphale noted. "Are you sure your motivations are as selfish as you're trying to make them seem?"

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, staring into his impossibly blue eyes. He wasn't sure. Or rather, he was sure they weren't, but he wasn't about to tell that to the angel. He'd never hear the end of it. Besides, carefully dancing around the truth wasn't the same as lying. Main difference being, he could keep up the former forever. Right?

He groaned as he turned his gaze away, instead locking eyes with the feline who was currently staring at him, still standing on the coffee table, yellow meeting yellow. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He moodily told the cat, drawing a chuckle from his friend next to him. Crowley took another slurp from his tea, this time making sure to not do any semi-permanent damage to his body. “So, you’re thinking of keeping it, then?” He asked Aziraphale.

“Of course I am. As an angel, I’m morally obliged to take care of anyone who crosses my path and can’t do so themselves.” He stated.

Crowley huffed.

“And besides, he’s good company. And I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t offer my guidance, assistance and company to a lost soul here and there. Perhaps with some walls up. Hm?”

The demon couldn’t help but smile behind his cup, looking fondly at the angel beside him. If only he’d bothered to put his sunglasses back on… Okay. Fine, whatever, he could throw the angel a bone every now and again.

“Any idea for a name yet?”

“Hm, now that you say so, I was actually struck by an idea a bit earlier.”

“Well then, what is it?” Crowley asked curiously. He suddenly wished he hadn’t when the angel started smirking from ear to ear.

“Anthony.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me on [Tumblr](http://iris-writes-things.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HatAndGoggles)!


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